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ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT.
Sweet babe! too quickly snatched from our embrace,
O, is indeed thy gentle spirit flown?
O, linger yet with us a short, short space!
'T is vain! so soon thou hasten'st to be gone.
O, is indeed thy gentle spirit flown?
O, linger yet with us a short, short space!
'T is vain! so soon thou hasten'st to be gone.
Whither, bright cherub, hast thou winged thy flight,
And left us all so soon that flight to mourn?
While yet we gaze, torn from our aching sight,
Departed, never, never to return.
And left us all so soon that flight to mourn?
While yet we gaze, torn from our aching sight,
Departed, never, never to return.
What fairy visions Hope's swift pencil drew
Of future joys thy presence was to bring!
Thou camest, but, ere yet our welcome knew,
To brighter worlds soared, on a seraph's wing.
Of future joys thy presence was to bring!
Thou camest, but, ere yet our welcome knew,
To brighter worlds soared, on a seraph's wing.
